Magic in Old Dixie
by LucerneBolvin
Summary: Voldemort's defeat has elicited sighs of relief not only in Britain but across the globe. As Harry, Ron, and Hermione celebrate their victory, however, a new story is beginning across the pond in the American wizarding world.
1. Chapter 1

Prologue

Jack Longstreet was having an ordinary day. As a twenty-three year old assistant at the Dixie Wizarding Academy, he always had work to do, and those duties could range from cleaning the owlery to answering the headmaster's mail. It was in performing the latter task that he uncovered an unusual envelope from the stack. It was large, pink, and bore the inscription "MofM" on the seal.

Jack was tempted to just throw the thing away. He had gotten plenty of these envelopes in the past year, none of which were worth the headmaster's time. They were always the same- warnings to be on the lookout for "Undesirable Number 1," the famed boy wizard who had supposedly slain the great Dumbledore. Americans wizards are tough to fool, and the headmaster had had just about enough of this nonsense. Both he and Jack Longstreet knew full well that no such thing had happened, that Voldemort was on the loose again, and that whatever propaganda the ministry was sending out these days was worth about as much as a buzzard's feathers.

But Jack was bored. He took out his wand, sliced open the envelope's seal, and opened it. He noticed immediately that this one was different. The parchment inside was small- so small, in fact, that it failed to even fill the confines of the envelope. He pulled out the tiny slip of parchment and read it.

Voldemort dead. Ministry retaken. Require meeting soon.

-Kingsley

Without a second thought Jack jumped out of his chair. After stuffing the missive in his pocket he threw on his robe and left the office. He came into a small hallway with a spiraling staircase in the center- it was summertime, so there were no students to be seen. Jack flew up the spiral staircase until he reached a heavy oaken door with a bronze knocker. He did not even bother to knock; the door flew open to his well acquainted touch and Jack entered.

The room he faced was not a large one- it was also rather plain, with simply a cedar desk in the center and a few old flintlock rifles adorning the walls. At the desk sat a monocled man, an old man, with well trimmed gray sideburns and oiled long hair. He was reading a tattered book.

"Letter from the British ministry," said Jack, still catching his breath.

"Oh Jack, I'm finished with their nonsense," said the man in an old Georgia accent. "Even if that boy could cross the ocean to get here there's no way we'd turn him in."

"It's not that sir," replied Jack. "The letter is from Kingsley. The Dark Lord is dead."

The old man slowly put down his book and removed his monocle. It took him a few moments to speak. "Well," he began, "it would seem Dumbledore was right all along."

Chapter 1

Arthur Givens sat quietly on the stony steps to his front porch. He had always been rather quiet, especially when he had a good book in his hands as he did this afternoon. For some reason, however, he couldn't quite focus. Reading about heroes lost in the woods fighting trolls, goblins, and other such devils was usually was his idea of a perfect day, but something was stuck in the back of his mind. He was _certain _that just this morning he had seen a black carriage disappear off his street as soon as he opened the door, despite the fact that in his sleepy little town no one owned any vehicle besides a truck, let alone a carriage. He was also quite certain that the carriage lacked horses, and he knew from his books that carriages needed horses to even move, let alone disappear.

That wasn't the only strange thing that had happened recently. Last week while shopping with his mother on main street he saw a long-nosed man in a tweed suit no larger than three feet tall standing across the road. Arthur had watched him for a few seconds, but his mother grabbed his shoulder and turned him away, reminding him that it's not kind to stare. Arthur was a polite boy and knew it was not kind to stare, however he had gotten the distinct impression that the three-foot tall man was staring at _him. _

The final strange thing had happened just the day before. It was a Sunday morning, and he and his mother were walking up the gravel road towards the church. The road was lined with bellflowers, and Arthur noticed that one of them hadn't bloomed yet. With his usual curiosity, he picked the flower, and as soon as he held it in his hand the petals unraveled revealing their beautiful purple color. He dropped it in surprise, and as it fell the petals closed, leaving the flower dormant once again. Arthur did not tell his mother about this, but it was all he could think about as the pastor droned on from the pulpit.

"Arthur!" yelled his mother from inside the house, jolting him back to reality. He dog-eared the current page on his book and walked through the screen door into the tiny living room. The snowy television screen was tuned in to cable news, the dog was sleeping on the plastic covered sofa, and Arthur's mother was standing in the entrance to the kitchen, holding something small and feathery. The small and feathery object was squirming and shrieking while trying to escape the strong hands holding it, and Arthur quickly realized it was an _owl_.

"Can you help me with this?" barked Arthur's mother. She was wearing a dirty long apron and rubber gloves- her hair was tied up in a bun behind her head. Arthur couldn't remember the last time she had worn her hair any differently.

"What do you want me to do with it?" yelled Arthur, trying to be heard over the squawking.

"Just get it out of the house!" yelled his mother back. "It came in through the damn stovepipe!"

Arthur tried grabbing the owl, but unlike his mother he wore no gloves and soon he was bleeding from the owl's claws. He needn't have tried, however, because after a few more moments the owl escaped his mother's grasp and flew on top of the television set. The dog gave it a bemused stare then went back to sleep.

"Who's ever heard of an owl that wants to be indoors?" asked Arthur's mother. "It ain't right, and it will not be tolerated. Arthur, get the broom."

At that moment Arthur noticed something, however. The owl was sticking out it's leg- and tied to the end of it's leg was a small envelope. "Look at that, mom," said Arthur. "He's trying to give us something." As Arthur turned his eye to his mother, what he saw startled him. She was standing completely still, hand over her heart. But most disturbing of all were her eyes. They were wide open and beginning to fill with tears. She was _afraid_.

"Come on, mom," said Arthur. "It's just a stupid owl with an envelope. Probably some prank by the Hutchins kids down the road."

"No, no," replied his mother, shaking her head. "No. It ain't no prank. Take the letter Arthur."

Arthur approached the owl- it didn't move. He untied the velvet string connecting the envelope to the owl's leg and motioned to give it to his mother.

"It's for you, honey," she said, still shaking her head. "It's for you."

Arthur looked down at the envelope. Sure enough, it was addressed to Arthur Givens, 13 Citrus Road. He opened it up and took out the letter.

Arthur, it is a pleasure to finally be writing to you. I am an old friend of your father, may God rest his soul. If your mother is in the room I'll bet she's in an awful state, and she has every right to be.

I am writing to ask permission to visit your home. Please ask your mother to give her reply to the owl and he will get it back to me. She knows who I am.

I will be in touch shortly.

"What is this, mom?" asked Arthur. "He was one of dad's friends? Dad died before you had me, what would he want with me?"

"Oh Arthur," replied his mother, kneeling on the ground to wrap her arms around her son. She was still crying. "We're going to have to have a conversation about your dad. But not today." She then stood up and took a piece of paper from the desk by the window. After writing something on it, she tied it to the owl. It flew off, and then she turned around to once more face Arthur. "Why don't you wash up, honey? We're expecting company."

End of Chapter 1


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

At six o' clock in the afternoon both Arthur and his mother sat motionless at the dining room table. The house had been cleaned, or at least cleaned as well as it could be in a few hours, and Arthur was wearing his Sunday best. Neither had spoken to each other since the letter, and Arthur preferred this, as he was still reeling from the event earlier in the day. He had never seen his mother so flustered before- this was the same woman who had raised him alone since he was a baby, who had fought off schoolyard bullies for him, and who had diligently held down two jobs as long as Arthur could remember. Not once through all this did she show a single side of weakness, yet the sight of a single envelope had caused her to melt like candle wax. Whoever had sent this letter was the last person Arthur wanted to meet, yet it was the very same person he was waiting on the sofa for.

As six o' four, the door knocked, which was odd, because no truck had come up the drive. Arthur stood up straight in his seat. He expected the visitor to be some angry drunk, a knife-wielding murderer, or worse. Who else could have caused mother to break down the way she did? But when Arthur's mother opened the door the man who walked through was none of those things. He was an older man who wore a light blue jacket with faded gold epaulettes on the shoulders, had long gray sideburns, and carried a simple wooden walking stick. He appeared to be right out of one of Arthur's history books.

"Abigail," he said, giving a small bow in the direction of Arthur's mother.

"Hello Mr. Adinson," she replied, standing fully straight while taking his hand in a firm shake. "Please sit down. I have a pitcher of tea in the kitchen, if you'd like."

"I would like that mighty fine," the man replied in a thick Georgian accent. "I do hope it's sweet, they say un-sweet is better for you but that just takes the fun out of it. And you can call me Elijah." While saying this the man walked to sit down in the ancient wooden rocking chair in the corner of the living room. He was silent for a few moments while Arthur's mother busied herself in the kitchen. Finally, he said "You must be Arthur."

Arthur barely heard him. His mind was racing. This man didn't appear to be an angry drunk or murderer, but in a way that was even more terrifying. Was he the tax man? No, the tax man wouldn't care about him. Or would he? Were they taking him away? Did mother miss so many bills that they were taking him as collateral?

Barely able to speak, Arthur mumbled "yes sir" very quietly. Mr. Adinson didn't speak in return, so finally Arthur worked up the courage to ask "are you the tax man?"

The old man chuckled. "Arthur, I have to disappoint you. I am much more dangerous than the tax man. And I'm afraid I ask for an even greater price." It was at this moment that Arthur's mother re-entered and handed the man a large glass of tea. "Thank you for the tea, Abigail, but could I trouble you for some ice? I don't take my tea warm, it gives me indigestion."

As Arthur's mother left the room once again Arthur couldn't help but wonder if Mr. Adinson was trying to keep him alone as long as possible. If he was, he wasn't spending his time wisely- he was still mildly staring at Arthur, as though he were a bass he had just caught and was wondering whether to keep it or throw it back.

"I've been told that you're a reader, Arthur. What have you been reading lately?" Mr. Adinson asked.

"The Hobbit," replied Arthur, wondering how the man could know this. "I've read it three times already."

"Good book," replied Adinson. "In fact, the author was an old friend of mine. I know you like to read on the porch- I understand why, these Georgia summers are best spent outside. Thank you Abigail, this is marvelous," he said he took the iced tea from Arthur's mother and took a sip.

Arthur thought he knew what was going on now. He had taken Stranger Danger classes at school. He knew that old men who watched young boys were not to be trusted. But why would his mother invite the man into the house? Why not call the police? And what connection did this have to Mr. Adinson being an old friend of his dad's? Finally, Arthur's mother sat down next to him on the sofa, which made him feel much more safe.

"I just put some meatloaf in the oven, Elijah," said his mother. "You're welcome to have supper with us if you'd like."

"Thank you Abigail, but that shouldn't be necessary," the man replied as he took another sip of his tea. "A good meatloaf takes forty minutes to cook, and I need to be back by sundown- I have a new assistant who gets nervous if left alone too long. In fact, I thought about sending him in my stead, but often the personal touch is best." He took another sip of his tea. "I do find it incredible, Abigail, that you never told the boy."

"Some things don't need telling," replied Arthur's mother. Arthur himself was completely silent- rather than being afraid, he was now curious. "I've read Leviticus, Elijah. Since Marshall's death I've come to the Lord. My boy will not walk the path his father walked."

"It may surprise you to know," replied Mr. Adinson, "that I've read the good book as well. Many times. And yet I sleep easy at night. I am no medium or necromancer. In fact, I fight against such folk. We all do at the Academy. You should know that."

"I know who you fight," replied Arthur's mother. "You've been fighting the same war for over a hundred years. It won't end, Elijah. Arthur will die in it just like his father, and I will be left alone. What good does it do any of us?" She rose to her feet, and Arthur noticed the same spirit he saw when she scolded him for not cleaning his room. "Arthur is a good boy. He's no soldier- he's a reader. He will be a lawyer, teacher, or something even better. And he _will _be a man of God."

"Mom," said Arthur finally. "You never said Dad died in a war." Arthur's mother was silent for a moment. She took her seat again and turned her face to him. Before she could speak, however, Mr. Adinson interjected.

"Secrets do us little good, Abigail," he said. He turned to face Arthur. "Yes, Arthur, your father did die in a war. His death was my fault, and your mother has every right to be angry at me." He then turned to Arthur's mother once again. "This is your decision, Abigail. But I will not be the last to knock on that door. Our enemies will come as well. Arthur will never live in the muggle world- it is impossible. You know this to be true." He then stood up from the old rocking chair and walked towards the door. "It will be best for him to leave as early as possible. A carriage will be waiting tomorrow morning to take him. We will not force him from your home, but others will not be so kind. Please make the correct decision." He then opened the door, stood on the porch, and with a loud _crack _he vanished.

Neither Arthur nor his mother spoke for several moments. The dog came up to Arthur a few times to lick his hand, but Arthur was too shocked to even pet it in return. A few mosquitoes flew in through the open screen door and buzzed around the living room, but Arthur's mother did not bother to close the screen.

Arthur had many questions, so many that he couldn't decide which to ask first. He had just seen a man disappear into thin air. He had also just learned that his father died in a war, while all his life he had been told his father died from smoking too many cigarettes. And finally there was the question of the Academy- what was this place, and why was Mr. Adinson so adamant that he go there? Arthur was a good student, but hardly the best; he had trouble with multiplication and was massively disorganized, as his teachers so often reminded him. Why would a school go out of the way to recruit him?

Before he could ask anything, Arthur's mother got up from the plastic-covered couch. She walked towards the door, and Arthur thought she meant to close it. But instead she walked outside. Before Arthur had time to feel deserted, she walked back in, this time with a wilted yellow flower in her hand.

"Take this, Arthur," she said.

Confused, Arthur took the flower in his hand. Immediately the flower straightened, no longer wilted, and the streaks of brown along the flower's petals disappeared. It was as beautiful as the day it had bloomed.

"I saw you with the bellflower yesterday at church," his mother said. "I knew at that moment that this meeting would come, I just didn't expect it so soon. Honey, I always tell you that life ain't like what you read in your stories- that there's no wizards, goblins, or dragons, no heroic adventures or grand battles. I tell you that because I wish it were true, that life was nothing but our little gravel road, the grocery store, and the church. But it ain't true. There's a whole world out there, and not just what you see on the TV. Another world. You're part of it, your dad was part of it, and I'm not. I don't know nothing about it other than that it's dangerous." She paused for a moment. "Arthur, honey, what do you want to do?"

"I don't want to leave you," replied Arthur.

"You're going to have to leave me eventually," she replied. "Elijah was right. Others will come. You're special, Arthur. Being special causes trouble." She took Arthur's hand in hers. "See this flower, Arthur? It was withered and dead, and you healed it. Make me one promise. Don't be a killer like your father. Try to heal this world a bit, because Lord knows it needs healing." She then walked towards the hallway cupboard, re-appearing moments later with an old shotgun. "I'll be keeping an eye out tonight. Tomorrow morning you better go. There's meatloaf in the oven. Help yourself."


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Arthur did not sleep that night. He spent hours staring at the wall of his tiny room- it was unadorned and had mildew creeping up from the dirty carpet below, but it was _home._ He had never lived anywhere else in his life, and had certainly never been away from his mother for any length of time. Eventually he got around to packing his things- a few pairs of boxer briefs, three sleeveless shirts and a pair of jeans were all he had had in the way of clothing- he was already wearing his Sunday corduroy pants and flannel shirt. He stuffed a few paperback books into his backpack as well, then lastly shoved in his dirty sneakers. Still unable to sleep, he left his room quietly and paced around the house. His mother was still sitting at the couch with her gun, but if she saw him awake she didn't say anything.

The dog got up from his sleeping spot by the back door and rose to meet him. Arthur kneeled down as the dog licked his face. The dog had never been given a name- Arthur had found him as a stray years before and they never could figure out what name he would respond to. But Arthur still loved the old hound, and as he realized he might not see him again for a while tears began to flow.

A few rays of sun began glinting through the dirty blinds on the back door. Resigned to his fate, Arthur returned to his room and retrieved his backpack. He carried it to the living room and sat down on the couch next to his mother. She was still wide awake, clearly neither of them had slept that night.

"Would you like breakfast?" she asked, but before Arthur could respond the sound of turning gravel came from the front drive. Arthur's mother sighed. "Punctual as always, that man hasn't changed." But when she went to open to door it was not Mr. Adinson who met her. It was a younger man wearing spectacles and a gray suit. Arthur's mother's hand went towards her gun, but the man stopped her.

"I'm from the Academy, Mrs. Givens. Though you are right to be suspicious. Here is a letter of assurance from Mr. Adinson," he said handing her a note. "We must leave soon." He then turned to Arthur. "Are you all packed?"

Arthur nodded. He turned to his mother and she bent down to kiss him on the cheek. "Come visit me, honey," she said. "I can at least ask that."

"I will, ma," Arthur replied. "As much as they let me." He then followed the young man onto the porch and towards a horseless wooden wagon. It reminded Arthur of the old wagons in history books about the Oregon Trail. Another man in a gray suit sat in the front holding reigns that appeared to hang in the air.

The younger man waved his hand and a small ladder emerged from the back of the canvased wagon leading to the inside. Arthur climbed the stairs and was shocked by what he saw- inside it looked like a dining room parlor, with a long table and a chandelier hanging from the roof. Bookcases and silverware cupboards lines the fine oak walls. It was clearly bigger than it appeared on the outside.

"I will be taking you to the Academy," said the young man as he entered behind Arthur. "My name is Jack Longstreet. Go ahead and take a seat if you like."

Arthur slowly walked to a chair at the long table, lugging his backpack over one shoulder. "This is incredible," he said while staring at the chandelier. "It's like magic."

"It is magic," said Jack, chuckling. "Surely you've figured that out by now. Anyways, we should be arriving at the Academy by early afternoon. I'm used to traveling a bit quicker, but you're not ready for apparation yet."

"What's apparation?" asked Arthur.

"It's been a long time since I've been asked that question," said Jack, chuckling once again. He seemed to be a good natured fellow. "I suppose muggles might call it teleportation. You're in once place one second, and the next you're another." As he said this he sat down in the chair across from Arthur and put his feet up on the table.

"What's a muggle?" asked Arthur. He hoped he wasn't bothering Jack with all these questions, but to the contrary the young man seemed to be enjoying himself.

"A muggle is someone who can't do magic."

"And I can do magic?"

"Yes sir, you can," replied Jack. "So could your father. The Academy is where you learn to harness that magic so you don't end up accidentally blowing up a house." Jack paused for a moment. "Did you eat breakfast?"

"No, I didn't have time," replied Arthur.

"Sorry about that. Adinson keeps me on a tight schedule." Jack then pulled a long polished stick out of his pocket and waved it at the table. Immediately a platter of eggs and bacon appeared before Arthur. Jack waved the stick again and a glass of orange juice and a fork appeared.

Arthur immediately dug in- he hadn't touched the meatloaf the night before and was starving. "You can create food with magic?" he asked through a mouthful of scrambled eggs.

"Not really, but I can make it show up if I know where it is," replied Jack. "Magic's a funny thing. Full of rules. You'll learn em', though. You're a smart kid."

The sound of wheels turning suddenly stopped. Immediately the expression on Jack's face turned grave. "Why are we stopping?" he said. "We shouldn't be stopping this early." He stood up and held the stick, which Arthur at this point figured to be a wand, up to shoulder's height and pointed it at the wall. "_Hominem Revealo" _he said, and then his eyes grew wide. "Arthur, stick close by my side."

Arthur got up from his seat and walked over to Jack. Jack put his hand on his shoulder and led him to the back of the room. A small window hung on the back wall- Jack opened the window and mumbled some words to the driver. Arthur couldn't hear what was said in return, but after the exchange Jack raised his wand and uttered the words "_Expecto Patronum."_ A silvery stream issued from the wand and congealed into what appeared to be a tomcat. "We are under attack," said Jack to the tomcat in a deep voice. "Magnolia Avenue near the Old Bridge. Send aid at once." He then flicked his wand and the tomcat disappeared.

"Get behind something," he then said to Arthur, who didn't need to be asked twice. He crouched behind a bookcase while Jack strode back towards the table. With a flick of his wand he sent it floating into the air until it hung ten feet off the ground. He then stood underneath it, wand at the ready. He didn't have to wait long- the canvas door to the wagon opened and a figure emerged.

The unknown man wore a suit of deep violet and squared leather shoes. He had finely combed blond hair and a handsome dimpled chin- as he walked closer Arthur noticed that his white glove-laden hands carried a dark wand. "I am surprised Adinson didn't pick the boy up himself," said the man. He had a strange voice- it was light, almost effeminate. "Instead he sends his errand boy? How strange." Jack said nothing in response, he simply kept his wand held at the ready. "Hello there, Arthur," he said, turning his gaze towards the bookshelf. "You can come on out, I have no interest in harming you. Quite the opposite, in fact."

"Arthur, stay back, please," said Jack. The sound of Jack's voice froze Arthur to his place- it was pleading and fearful. Whoever this unknown man was, he was dangerous.

"I know you sent a patronus," continued the man as he twirled his wand between his gloved fingers. "And I assure you I did not come alone. Give up the boy and there will be no bloodshed. If not...well, at least the Red Caps will feast tonight."

"How did you come this far South?" barked Jack. His voice no longer sounded fearful, instead it sounded resolved.

"Wouldn't you like to know?" responded the man. "Now, Arthur," he said, ignoring Jack once more, "I was a dear friend of your father. He would very much like it if you came with me- and he would certainly be displeased to know you've joined the side responsible for his his death."

"He lies, Arthur!" yelled Jack.

"I tell the truth!" returned the man. "With the blood of Marshall Givens on your hands you seek to recruit his son, to mold him into the very thing his father rejected!" The strange man no longer appeared handsome and debonair- his voice became deep, his features darkened, and his gloved hands raised the dark wand.

"_Incendio!" _shouted Jack, and the table hovering above his head burst into flames. He swung his wand downward and the table followed suit, spiraling at the unknown man.

The unknown man wordlessly flicked his wand and the table vanished completely, with no trace left of it nor its flames. "A pitiful attempt," he said. As he raised his wand at Jack noises could be heard from outside- screams and bangs that sounded like black powder going off. "Give him up now."

Before Jack could respond, however, an explosion rattled back of the wagon. The entire floor tilted downwards and Arthur, still clinging to the bookshelf, felt himself sliding towards the canvas entrance. Another explosion sounded, and suddenly the bookshelf disappeared- as Arthur looked up he found himself laying in the wooden wreckage of a normal wagon- whatever spell had created the elaborate dining room had obviously been destroyed.

All around, men were fighting on a forested dirt road. Arthur did not know if Jack or the unknown man were still by his side- he felt as though he were surrounded by a fireworks show. Glistening against the still rising sun jets of light of every color- red, green, violet, blue- whizzed back and forth. As Arthur tried to dislodge a piece of lumber trapping him he saw one man struck with a green bolt of light and fall like a puppet whose strings were cut. The man fell right next to him, and the pale eyes on his bearded face rolled upward.

Arthur looked all around for Jack- however at least twenty men were fighting viciously and he likely couldn't recognize Jack even if he saw him. Worse, more men were appearing- every few moments a loud _crack_ would pierce the air and another fighter, wand aloft, would enter the fray. With a final effort Arthur pushed the wooden board off of himself and tried to stand up- however just as he was rising he felt a hand on his shoulder.

Arthur turned his head and looked into a pair of deep violet eyes- it was the unknown man from the wagon. Up close, he was terrifying, as though a spell designed to make him handsome had worn off. His blond hair was ragged, his mouth was curved into a cruel thin smile, but worst of all were his eyes- instead of round pupils he had dark slits, almost like a cat. "You're mine," he whispered, and Arthur saw over his shoulder the limp form of Jack hanging over the wreckage of the wagon, chest covered in blood.

Arthur felt a strange sensation come over him- the vibrant battle around him began to blur, and the toes on his feet seemed to squeeze together, almost as though he was being pulled through a rubber tube. As this was happening, a bolt of white light whizzed over his head and the feeling immediately vanished- the blond man's grasp disappeared, the scene came back into focus, and his feet felt normal again. Arthur turned and saw the blond man on the ground but quickly rising, wand outstretched and pointing just beyond Arthur's shoulder.

"Stay still, Arthur," said a familiar voice behind him. _"Protego!" _A light blue wall appeared between Arthur and the blond man. A dark spell hit and it cracked, but it still held. Suddenly Arthur felt the strange sensation once more- the scene blurred, his feet tightened, and soon everything was dark.


End file.
